Long-time urbanites relocate to a 270 year old farm in rural New England. Domestic chaos ensues, resulting in "...a year's worth of hilarious observations and amusing anecdotes." - Kirkus Review

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Wachusett Garden Club - They Didn't Come in from The Cold

It's been pretty chilly around here lately, with high temperatures in the 'teens and low 20s. The wind chill factor lowers the "feels like" number to single digits, as in 18 degrees F with winds from the WSW at 4 miles an hours = "feels like" 7 degrees F. Big difference - HUGE, in fact between 18 degrees F and 7 degrees F: one is tolerable, and the other is not, mainly. Raj and I went for a walk Wednesday afternoon and lasted for 15 minutes outside before turning around and heading back to The Fahm. It was so cold that it made our faces ache most uncomfortably. Note to self: find the balaclava or buy another one.

Imagine my surprise then, to get the following e-mail from Our Dear Neighbor Monique, on Friday afternoon:

"I'm going to an outside pruning demonstration by an arborist at a WGC member's house tomorrow morning, probably'll lasts a couple hours. I can bring a friend, want to come? train leaves @ 9:45, let me know if I can pick you up."

My reply:

"Yes! I would love to do that. I'll be ready at 9:45 for you to pick me up. And did you say this is an outside event? You New Englanders!!"

We didn't after all spend the entire pruning demonstration outside; we learned about theory first, in the comfort of a warm and cozy dining room. We feasted on red velvet cupcakes, cheese, crackers, olive tapanade, and gallons of coffee. All theoreticians, however, must act as well as eat, which is how, despite my deep reservations about the wisdom of so doing, we ended up trooping outside. It was very, very cold, the snow was very, very deep. The wind was blowing - not very, very hard but very, very edgily, murmuring, "I'll cut you, I'll cut you" as it whipped and whistled around us, reveling in our lack of shelter.

Once I heard The Voices in the Wind I knew it was time to remove myself from the windy ridge and seek shelter. Those Hardy New Englanders did not follow my excellent example; they went on to flounder through the snow toward the Japanese Maple and the giant loopy rose, and skid down the driveway to peer at shrubbery (buried in snow). They are readying themselves, unmistakably, for what seems at this moment to be very far away: Spring.